


The Soccer Pitch

by Tetrahedrite



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Biting, Clothing removal by katana, M/M, Mass destruction of soccer balls, Pinned wrists, Rimming, Sex in a public location, Very very light suggestion of bdsm dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tetrahedrite/pseuds/Tetrahedrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soft footfalls on the turf. </p><p>“Lupin sent you.”</p><p>The footsteps came to an uncertain halt. “Yes,” Brozzi replied, fidgeting a bit. Before coming here he hadn’t quite considered, well, much of anything, to be frank. “Er, why are you meditating in the middle of a football pitch?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soccer Pitch

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blupinromp Asides](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260250) by [Sin (Tomigiru)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomigiru/pseuds/Sin). 
  * Inspired by [The Blupin Romp Series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243705) by [lupinthenerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinthenerd/pseuds/lupinthenerd). 



The text came two days later. Brozzi squinted into the medicine cabinet mirror, left jowl puffed out for close inspection. The rash from last week was mostly gone. Itchy, though. He daubed some cream into a spot, resisting the urge to scratch his face open. Skincare was a pain in the ass, but he still had an image to upkeep, didn’t he?

Even if he was seeing less and less of it. The cheek deflated. He peered into his dim reflection, scowling. The bathroom was poorly lit, maybe a tad worse than it seemed a few days ago. 

Eventually maybe he wouldn’t be doing this at all.

_Bzzt._

At the buzz of his phone he willed away that train of thought, wiping his fingers on a towel.

**_Lupin_ ** _: Goemon’s training, u should drop by_

Training? An image of Goemon struggling at the bench press with his scrawny arms floated into his mind and was quickly dismissed. That was terrible of him; Goemon wasn’t bulky, but he was certainly fit. Though Brozzi had barely experienced any of that, since it was so dark in the bar restroom and in their furtive abandon he had barely touched him except to grip his pretty little head. That was… he swallowed at the recollection, thumbs hovering over the screen. 

He fired back three question marks.

_???_

_Training?_

Too quickly, oops. Lupin was probably laughing at him. Lupin would probably laugh at him anyway, though. Brozzi hesitated, but only for a moment.

_Where?_

— 

Soft footfalls on the turf. 

“Lupin sent you.”

The footsteps came to an uncertain halt. “Yes,” Brozzi replied, fidgeting a bit. Before coming here he hadn’t quite considered, well, much of anything, to be frank. “Er, why are you meditating in the middle of a football pitch?”

Goemon opened his eyes and stood up. “It’s a nice open space. Nobody will be around until morning,” he said, shrugging. “Good evening, by the way.” 

“Er, yeah. Sorry to break your concentration.”

“Not at all.” Goemon shook his head serenely, resting his weight on his sword. 

“And, er. What’s with all of these footballs?” 

At least a hundred of them had been placed everywhere across the pitch, most of them clustered around one goal. It was a somewhat disconcerting scene.

Goemon shrugged again, this time less casually. “I thought we might perhaps… play.” At the look on Brozzi’s face, he went a little pink. “Yes, I am aware this is an unusual number of balls.” He cleared his throat. “I heard that you moved like a samurai. It’s not the same on TV. I wanted to see you in person.”

The frankness caught him off-guard. Brozzi tried to locate the cocksure, commandeering personality he had managed to muster during their last encounter, fuelled by Lupin’s taunting and the delicate curves of Goemon’s cheekbones. For some reason it wasn’t there at all, only a bothersome, vague insecurity. “All right?” he said, instinctively thumbing at the phone in his pocket. Goemon’s eyes darted sharply towards the movement, narrowing. He looked like an annoyed child, Brozzi thought, relaxing somewhat.

He coughed lightly. Admittedly, he was flattered by this whole… whatever it was. “How are we doing this?”

“You start over there.” Goemon nodded toward the side of the pitch where there were fewer balls. “I’ll defend. Come at me.”

That was all? Brozzi chuckled a little. To be fair, the kid just wanted to see him move, and he could do that. He jogged over to the far side, stopping just before the penalty box. He was wearing running shoes instead of cleats, but they would do. Goemon had taken position in the opposite goal, poised with sword before him.

“Whenever you’re ready,” came the distant voice. 

All right. Brozzi broke into a run for the nearest ball, enjoying the breeze on his face. This was an odd game, but if Goemon wanted goals, he could have them. He planted his weight and gave it a solid lob. The ball soared across the pitch. He watched the samurai lazily raise his sword, still in its sheath, and deflect it with ease. 

Brozzi was rather struck by the desire to see that sheath to come off.

Across the pitch, Goemon willed himself to clear his head. Brozzi had resumed running, cutting an attractive figure under the stadium lights. He began to lob balls in earnest. That was more like it.

A whisper of steel, and— _good god,_ the sound of a football bursting was not what Goemon had expected. It went off like an obnoxious firecracker, and Brozzi almost tripped in surprise. Goemon suppressed his embarrassment, realising he should have cut clean through instead of merely popping it. He flushed with the self-awareness that he would have to do some showing off.

But then again, that was sort of the point of this absurd venture, wasn’t it?

Soon enough, white and black shreds were flying across the field. Brozzi finally jogged to a halt a few yards away. “This isn’t fair, I can’t keep up,” he laughed. 

“Don’t move.”

“Wh—” Before Brozzi could react, Goemon had vanished from where he was standing. Brozzi briefly registered a pale pink blur coming his way from apparently every direction. A shadow flashed at his feet and he looked up to see the silhouette of a samurai, stark against the floodlights, bearing down on him with sword raised high.

The cold kiss of steel, somewhere too close to process––

Goemon landed noiselessly in a cat’s crouch. 

Silence. Then, the faint hissing of fifty or so remaining footballs collectively deflating on the pitch around them.

He stood and began to sheath his sword. “I-I— Forgive me,” Goemon coughed, red flooding his face furiously. “I have cut another worthless object.”

“Huh?” 

The click of hilt against sheath. Brozzi was suddenly aware of the curious sensation of cloth fluttering around his crotch. Goemon discreetly averted his face. Alarmed, Brozzi yanked open his belt and pushed down his trousers. A timely breeze swept by, gathering the handful of white-and-cornflower-blue confetti that used to be his boxer briefs and dispersing it into the sky.

—

 _Bzzt. Bzzt._ His phone had fallen out of his trouser pocket and lay screen side down on the turf, buzzing faintly.

“Give that to me.” Goemon extended an open hand, still looking away. Between the outstretched hand, his bare crotch, and the fallen phone at his feet, Brozzi was momentarily paralysed. He also felt faintly light-headed, but that may have been all the blood in his head rushing downwards, a fact which was beginning to proudly announce itself to the world. 

“I would prefer not to sully Zantetsuken’s blade any more tonight.”

There was no room to contest in that tone. Brozzi promptly dropped to his knees and handed him the phone, tripping in his own haste. The trousers were bunched around his lower legs and he couldn’t precisely get up, but Brozzi found he was in no hurry to. Goemon powered off the device and tossed it aside. 

“That was really… something,” Brozzi remarked into the silence, clenching and unclenching his fingers on the grass. He could not bear a prolonged wait for whatever would happen next. “It was really impressive.” Not to mention awe-inducing and terrifying. His throat was dry. He distantly registered the humiliating nature of his current position. As though to affirm the words he had spoken, his half-swollen cock rose a little higher. Goemon was not looking at him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see. He kept his gaze fixed on the samurai’s pale throat. The Adam’s apple trembled, then bobbed. A nervous swallow.

At some point he heard the katana fall to the ground with a muffled clatter. By then they had already tumbled into the grass, half-wrestling, groaning into each other’s mouths. Their fingers slid into a dead lock. Brozzi frantically kicked off his sneakers, free hand clutching at the back of Goemon’s head to steady himself. Their noses mashed together a bit as he tried to shake free of the tangle of clothing around his legs, cursing into Goemon’s lips. Finally, his lower body freed, Brozzi rolled himself on top to kiss in earnest. Soft lips quickly gave way to unabashed teeth, taking him by surprise. Knees slipping a bit on the smooth cotton of Goemon’s _hakama_ , he gave back in kind, snarling and licking at the corner of already spit-slick lips. Goemon impatiently angled their mouths back together, snared Brozzi’s lower lip with his teeth, and gave it a hard, merciless roll.

Brozzi yelped in pain. They broke for air and fiercely regarded one another. Goemon stared unapologetically up at him, face and neck pink enough to match his _hakama,_ dark hair fanned out on the grass on one side and completely mussed on the other. The flush spread down his lightly heaving chest. Heat rose in Brozzi’s own face as firm hands came up to grip his ass, and he quickly decided to shut the fuck up. Brozzi bent to suck Goemon’s ear with his bruised lip, licking the lobe with care. Overactive lips and teeth attacked at his jawline and sucked harshly on his neck. The sensation sharpened his arousal to a frustrating point; he had certainly wanted _this_ man, wanted more than the docile fantasy he had been offered three days ago. Beneath that, a man of the sword, of discipline, of perfect form and concentration but also a roaring spring of wild kisses and knocked jaws. Brozzi blindly thrust his face back in the direction of another kiss, fingers gripping a fistful of soft hair.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, eliciting a strangled moan. Goemon twisted his body between Brozzi’s knees––oh. Brozzi’s cock was leaking openly where he had been half-consciously grinding against Goemon’s thigh. His body suddenly seemed to remember the focal point of its arousal. Despite the excess fabric between them, Brozzi could feel the contours and taut muscle of Goemon’s lean figure arching into his own. A soft hand stroked the hair on his lower back, and heat rushed to pool in his lower belly. Goemon closed his eyes and leaned up to kiss him again, earnestly pressing his wet tongue into Brozzi’s mouth with an obscene curiosity. Goemon took Brozzi’s face between his hands, probing and teasing with that tiny bundle of nerves and fire. Brozzi clumsily ground his hips downwards. In a flash, Goemon wrapped his legs tightly around his waist. The friction was too much. Brozzi shuddered at the first burst, and then he could not stop; all sensation rushed to the throbbing ache in his cock. Something between a groan and a wail of pain burst from his throat. He tore his mouth away, panting wildly, and buried his face into Goemon’s hair before he even realized that he had come. 

It was hot and wet and a mess on Goemon’s robes and for a short-lived moment Brozzi felt a pang of shame. A brief kiss was pressed to his temple and then the world flipped: Brozzi found his bare ass pressed to the turf. Goemon sat firmly astride him, deftly undoing the tie of his hakama. Robes were tossed off, a strip of white cloth unravelled with a flourish. Brozzi squinted against the floodlights, hands half-raised in a useless effort to assist. Goemon quickly aborted that inquiry by pinning his wrists down on either side. He caught the zipper of Brozzi’s jacket with his teeth and ripped it down. Perched like a cat, despite locks of hair falling into his face, Goemon showed no expression except for that of intense concentration. He planted a trail of deliberate, heavy kisses down Brozzi’s jaw, sucking at each spot with methodical diligence. Secure in the grip of calloused hands, Brozzi relaxed into a lazy post-orgasmic bliss. He hadn’t expected Goemon to be in the mood to take charge, or even to have it in him at all (this thought now roused a scalding shame), but it was a relief; it was possibly also something else, but he couldn’t properly mull it over. The lips at work on his neck made one final bruise, releasing the skin with a pop.

“Get up.”

His wrists, unfortunately, were now free. Goemon helped him sit up, taking the opportunity to tug off his t-shirt, which had been piled around his chest anyway. He gently rolled Brozzi over onto his elbows and knees.

“Do you mind?” Thin lips pressed at his lower spine. A moist tongue darted over his tailbone. A low shiver erupted through him as awareness of what was to come hit; his cock stirred again. Then the wetness was gone, replaced by the warmth of shallow breathing centimeters away from his skin.

He realized Goemon was still waiting for an answer. “Please,” he gasped. “I mean, n-no.” He buried his heated face into an arm, bracing himself. The tongue returned, slid down the groove with excruciating deliberation, withdrew. He felt his cheeks peeled apart by strong hands. Then, no mistake about it: a wet tongue was pressed to his arsehole, pushing its way against the tight ring of muscle. He clutched weakly at the grass; the tongue probed insistently, thrusting without apology. He couldn’t breathe––wait––the knot in his stomach undid itself somewhat as Brozzi gasped for air. A groan escaped him. Goemon grunted into his arse in response, tongue pushing with renewed rhythm, sending jolts of sensation up his spine. The tongue gave a thorough swirl; Brozzi felt his body turn to water. Pleasure crashed through in waves and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

He heard Goemon say something, but he couldn’t parse the words; he babbled a response, quite possibly not even entirely in Italian. The tongue withdrew and Brozzi missed it instantly, his arsehole suddenly wet and cold against the night air. The warmth quickly returned. Smooth thighs to his hairy ones, bony hips grinding against his arse, and–– heat swelled within him. Goemon’s cock, a stiff throbbing thing, rubbed back and forth between his cheeks with a telling urgency. Its proximity to his own arse was driving him mad. He needed to be fucked; he conveyed that as best he could by bucking his hips back, moaning incoherently, half-buckling into the grass. But Goemon was already losing his rhythm. A final jolt, a shudder, and he felt the wet heat of cum landing all over his back, as high as his neck and hair. They collapsed into the grass together. Goemon rolled onto his back next to the other man, seeming to retreat into reserved embarrassment.

Brozzi lay there on his stomach, eagle-spread, listening to the other man’s panting quiet down. The pressure on his erection was uncomfortable, then painful. He turned over. The grass had printed into one side of his face, and there was definitely dirt in his beard. “Would––would you––” He exhaled deeply and rubbed his nose. “I dunno if you’d be interested, but would you wanna––would you mind fucking me?”

Goemon’s eyes widened for a moment’s pause.

“If you mean right now, I just, well–- and we don’t have any––”

“I know. Let’s go back to my place.”

It took some time to pick up their clothing. They were both struck with lethargy and yawned their way through pulling clothes back on. The coveted fucking would probably have to wait.

They left the football pitch together in silence, picking their way through the mess of deflated footballs. A soft rain began to fall.

—

Goemon wasn’t sure which would be worse: returning to the hideout in Brozzi’s clothes, or in his own spectacularly soiled ones: grass stains all over the back, a mess of dried cum down the front. Actually, the former was almost certainly preferable to the average person, but his clothes were his clothes, and he wasn’t about to compromise on that matter.

Even though Brozzi had lent him a shirt and shorts to sleep in, because the summer night had been strangely chilly, and that had been just fine. That was different.

He walked through the door, chin held high, gripping his sword maybe just a tad tighter than usual. Jigen was cleaning his gun on the coffee table and watching a football game. 

“Where’ve you been? Lupin said you had––” Jigen finally looked away from the TV. He boggled at him for a moment, then recovered, pulling his hat over his face.

Goemon had stopped in the middle of his way to the bathroom. “Had what?”

“Er, errands to run.” Jigen made a noise between a grunt and a snort and pulled his hat even lower, if that were possible. Helpfully, Lupin chose that moment to burst out of the bathroom. “Goemon-chan!” Lupin made as though to hug him, then recoiled at the sight of his clothing. “Wowow, somebody sure had a good time,” he snickered. 

“No thanks to you.”

“Oh really? You’re not gonna give me credit? Come on~ ”

Goemon unsheathed his sword an inch. Uh oh. Lupin knew that gleam in his eye and he didn’t want to die, but by god, teasing Goemon was too fun. “I bet you couldn’t get enough of that cute fat cock of his,” he sang, sprinting towards the door.

To everyone’s surprise, Goemon just replaced his sword and headed into the bathroom.

“We’re all dead,” Jigen muttered.

“I think it went well,” Lupin said uncertainly.

—

Goemon woke up to a faceful of sunlight and the unfamiliar feeling of a warm body pressed against his back. He turned. Brozzi was snoring faintly, an arm draped loosely around his waist. At the movement his face disappeared into the pillow with a groan. 

It reemerged abruptly with a huge grin. A pink flush spread across Goemon’s cheeks.

“I had a good time.”

“Me too.” Brozzi stifled a yawn, chuckling. “Sorry.”

Silence.

“Um,” Brozzi scratched at his beard awkwardly. “Do you wanna meet again? I mean, not just for sex. Do other things, maybe. But sex is good too, I mean––”

He broke off. The smile lit up Goemon’s whole face and reached all the way to his eyes.

“I would like that, yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a continuation of Tomigiru's Brozzi/Goemon fic (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5260250/chapters/12137867), which is itself a continuation of lupinthenerd's "The Locker Room" in their Blupinromp universe (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5243705/chapters/12097094). Thanks for sinning with me, guys.


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